


Exhaustion

by Just_Another_Flygirl



Series: 100 Themes Challenge [3]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Angst, Gen, Outer Space, Suspense, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2020-04-05 06:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Another_Flygirl/pseuds/Just_Another_Flygirl
Summary: A rescue mission in space is interrupted with deadly consequences...Kind of loosely based around what I saw in the trailer for the second part of TAG S3 that was released and inspired me to sort of come up with my own take on things(I don't think there are any spoilers as it's just a little theory I came up with from a couple of snippets in the trailer but if you don't want any accidental spoilers, maybe come back to this once S3 has finished airing?)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Thunderbirds Are Go - they belong to the late Gerry and Silvia Anderson
> 
> Author's Note: Sorry for the massive hiatus in writing - things haven't been great with my health (physical and mental) and then I got a promotion at work that requires a lot of my time. But hopefully, I will be writing more soon as I have a very handy app that I can use on my phone during my commute to/from work! The theme of this fic (Exhaustion) is based upon the 100 Themes Challenge on DeviantArt that I started years ago and never got around to completing. It's also kind of loosely based around what I saw in the trailer for the second part of TAG S3 that was released and it inspired me to sort of come up with my own take on things - I don't think there are any spoilers as it's just a little theory I came up with from a couple of snippets in the trailer but if you don't want any accidental spoilers, maybe come back to this once S3 has finished airing? :3  
> If you choose to continue to read, I hope you enjoy this - hopefully, I'll have the next chapter out soon (and maybe even another new fic that my plot-bunnies have been playing with for a while now!)! Please do leave a review and let me know what you thought! :)

Even with the rolling cockpit, the force of the explosion was enough to jar the occupants of the red rescue rocket.

Alan Tracy growled as he struggled with the controls, wincing as his shoulders and upper torso twisted and jerked against the harness of his chair. He was vaguely aware of Brains' panicked cries and the clattering of metal as Braman was thrown haphazardly against the reinforced bulkhead. Somewhere amongst the blaring of alarms and the ringing in his head, the young astronaut could hear John's voice crackling over the communications system.

_"Alan! Al-- do y-- read me?!"_

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, Alan took a deep breath as he fought with his beloved ship, trying to regain control and realign her course.

_"--bird Three! Ple-- --spond!"_

"I hear ya, John!" Alan frowned through gritted teeth. "I'm dealing with a situation here!"

"O-Oh my..!" Brains yelped out beside the astronaut, instinctively shielding himself as the panel to his left began to spark and sizzle. Unclipping himself from his seat, he pressed a button on the outer calves of his boots, hearing and feeling the _clunk-clunk_ as the scientist used the magnetic boots to anchor himself to the cockpit floor. A quick glance around and he was running for the extinguisher and hastily grabbing hold of it. He fumbled for a second before gloved hands managed to pull the pin on the device, aiming it at the smouldering panel and pulling the trigger.

Jumping in his seat at the sudden, loud hiss next to him, Alan could only spare a nanosecond of a glance at Brains before turning his attention back to his stricken ship.

"John! I've lost all power to engine number one!" his voice was terse, body rigid. "Engine number three is severely damaged and operating at fifty-three percent!" Narrowed blue eyes scrutinised the holographic displays before him; the holographic images of Thunderbird Three intermittently distorting and flickering as the on-board systems struggled to report the repercussions of being so close to the epicenter of the explosion.

It was not the best situation.

But it could have been so much worse.

Fortunately, Brains had designed the International Rescue fleet to withstand most beatings from a variety of strenuous environments. A flick of some buttons and switches, followed by deft fingers across the newly activated holo-board had Alan awakening one of Brains' newer creations as a new blip on the schematics of Thunderbird Three displayed plethora of nanobots springing to life. The bright green fleck was quick to separate into numerous smaller dots, scattering to the most urgent parts of the ship in need of feasible, on-the-spot repairs.

A grueling minute and a half later and Alan was finally able to gain control of Thunderbird Three, halting their disorienting spin and leveling the spaceship out. Allowing himself a moment to steady himself, the teen slumped back in his seat, closing his eyes and breathing out a long sigh of relief. "Is everyone okay?"

"A-Affirmative," Brains replied, already in the midst of helping Braman upright, checking the android for any signs of damage. "Although we appear to be v-very much off-course." Pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, Brains tapped a few commands into his wrist panel, giving himself a nod of satisfaction. "Our guests seem to b-be safe and secure in the holding bay. A-All cryo-chambers are reading as normal... But.." he trailed off, swallowing hard as he glanced back over his shoulder at the youngest member of International Rescue.

A mixture of fear, adrenaline and determination clawed at Alan's chest, blue eyes scanning the carnage before him: Pieces of debris littered the blackness of space - almost completely unrecognisable as what was once an old research vessel. It's occupants had been seemingly forced into a stasis of cryogenic sleep after some unknown incident had taken place, leaving only Braman in charge of the ship, emitting an SOS call as the dormant ship headed on a silent collision course with Earth.

Until John had picked up the call in Thunderbird Five.

And then the Chaos Crew, courtesy of The Hood, had intercepted their rescue mission.

Daring to edge his crippled ship back towards the source of the explosion, Alan was uncharacteristically quiet as he continued to examine the pieces of wreckage drifting in the silent vacuum of space.

_'Where are you?'_

His hands were shaking and he couldn't tell if his body was still recovering from being rocked so violently in his seat as he fought with the controls of his ship or if this was now brought on by fear and uncertainty. Hesitating for a second, Alan tapped the IR logo on his utility sash, activating his communications link.

"Scott?"

No response.

"Scott, can you hear me?"

Silence.

_'C'mon, big bro. Give me a sign...'_

A twisted, charred piece of bracketing hit one of the viewing windows with a _clunk_ , startling the blond astronaut. Alan let out an unsteady breath, trying to calm the pounding in his chest before he changed his approach on the situation.

"Thunderbird Five?"

 _"I hear you, Thunderbird Three,"_ John's voice sounded quieter than usual. _"I'm having EOS scan the site for life signs but it's hard with all of the debris scattered over such a widespread area."_

"He... He said that he was going back for the last cryo-chamber," Alan's voice almost matched his brothers. "Braman said that it was located amongst the secondary cryo-sleep chambers that had been damaged when the ship started going offline. I told Scott to leave it because Braman reported that the cryo-chamber had malfunctioned an hour or so before we had arrived, but he said if there was a chance to saving that last life, he had to try..." he swallowed hard, his voice dropping another tone. "He said it's what Dad would've done."

Alan was not even sure if their Field Commander had made it that far before the charges planted by the Chaos Crew had started to detonate. The last thing he could remember was Scott's voice over the comms before all hell broke loose as the research vessel was obliterated by a series of brutal explosions.

_"I'm not gonna make it!"_

"Thunderbird Five?" Alan frowned. "John, are you still there?"

_"I'm still here, Alan."_

"Anything?"

 _"Negative, Thunderbird Three. We're still scanning..."_ it may have been Alan's imagination but John's voice sounded so... business-like. As if it was just another civilian to be rescued that they were discussing. Not their own _brother_.

_Thunk!_

Already feeling somewhat jittery, Alan's head snapped to the right, towards the source of the disturbance. A badly damaged console - possibly from the cockpit of the destroyed ship. And floating effortlessly just beyond it...

_'Oh no...'_

"John..." Alan's voice hitched in his throat.

_'No.. Please, no..'_

He bit his lower lip, unable to tear his gaze from the scorched jetpack; the familiar decal of Thunderbird One's flight patch confirming his suspicion and fears. "We... We have a situation..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh! I really didn’t expect to have a second chapter out so soon! But I’m currently spending another lovely weekend indoors because I’ve not been well (and even worse that our neighbours were drunkenly singing karaoke until the early hours of the morning and waking everyone in our apartment up!) so I’ve had time to rest and carry on writing!  
> I've upped the rating on this fic now because of swearing - so yes, warnings for some potty-mouth language!

_'A needle in a haystack...'_

That was what ran through the mind of Thunderbird Five's space monitor as he surveyed the information projected before him: A combination of data gathered from his array of hypersensitive systems alongside whatever live infographics could be collated and fed back from the heavily-damaged Thunderbird Three.

_"John?"_

Aquamarine eyes closed for a moment and John Tracy inhaled gently, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had been busy handling calls for the last fifteen hours straight - liaising with the other members of International Rescue for the high-priority call-outs and diverting the more manageable incidents to the more local authorities.

Long story short; he was exhausted.

_"John, do you read me?"_

And this was the last thing he needed right now.

"Receiving you, Thunderbird Three," he responded to Alan's call. "EOS and I are still searching."

_"But what about-"_

"It's not evidence of anything, Alan," John interjected, his voice calm and steady. "I'm trying to run suit diagnostics but there's too much debris in the way. Just keep your eyes peeled."

Besides, Scott could have cut his jetpack at any point during the mission... It would not have been the first time their impulsive brother had made the decision to jettison the propulsion kit - much to Brains' dismay.

It was times like this when John wished that Virgil had gone on this mission instead of Scott. Sometimes, things required someone a little more... level-headed...

However, Virgil and Gordon were still on-site in the middle of the Indian Ocean; dealing with a volatile situation involving a collision between two ships in stormy seas - one of which has been carrying a particularly nasty cargo of high toxicity.

And Kayo had been sent to assist Lady Penelope and Parker (and Sherbert, of course) on a mission of the utmost priority which involves Her Majesty's crown jewels - or rather the lack thereof.

John let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples in circular motions with gloved hands.

He _really_ needed to remember to ask Brains for a space-safe, automatic coffee machine...

"EOS, try to enhance section Charlie-three-five-Alpha," he instructed. "Zoom in on the new grid coordinates Foxtrot-seven-nine-Delta."

"Calculating..." EOS abided. The A.I. seemed to pause for a moment before her volume decreased a notch. "It is my understanding that Alan seems to be displaying high signs of apprehension. Suit diagnostics have picked up an elevated heart and respiration rate, alongside an increased activity of sweat glands. I would recommend communicating and placating him in order to minimise the margin for human error in piloting Thunderbird Three if his symptoms continue to worsen."

"Alan can handle his own," John almost snapped at his orbital companion. "He's seen a lot worse in this line of work. Besides, I'm _not_ Virgil."

Which was why John kept telling himself that he was best-suited for duties on-board Thunderbird Five. Very much the introvert of the family, the redhead very much enjoyed the minimalist company up here in the confines of space. Sure, he was professional about his demeanour when dealing with calls. But when it came down to acting as a family counselling, Virgil was the best person for the job.

Not him.

EOS seemed to understand the gist of her creator's reasoning, the A.I. choosing not to pursue the topic further as she quietly cleared her virtual throat, directing herself back to the main task at hand. "Foxtrot-seven-nine-Delta is showing no signs of organic activity."

The tension in John's shoulders increased as he subconsciously clenched his jaws tighter. "Shit."

_'Come on, you cocky bastard... You've gotten out of tight situations like this before...'_

All of them had experienced their fair share of near-death encounters. It was an occupational hazard of being a member of International Rescue after all.

But John _really_ did not want the responsibility of reporting to the others that one of them would not be returning...

...Again.

And there was the downside of being so isolated: When their father had gone missing, John did not even have the company of EOS to talk to. The others had been frantically searching their father's last known coordinates in between call-outs that they had almost run themselves into the ground. John had considered taking the space elevator down to the island, but a notably bad fight had broken out between Scott and Gordon as a result of fatigue, worry and frayed nerves. Subsequently, the space monitor had come to the conclusion that the path of being a recluse was much more beneficial for him considering how much he despised family confrontations.

"Thunderbird Three's fuel tank has been severely damaged," EOS reported, snapping John's thoughts back to the present. "The nanobots have repaired the rupture, but I have calculate that there is a maximum of twelve minutes flight time remaining if Thunderbird Three is to make a safe re-entry and landing back to base."

As if the day could not get any worse...

"Thunderbird Three, do you copy?" John's lips had tightened into a thin line. "EOS estimates  you have no more than twelve minutes worth of fuel before you need to commence your re-entry to land."

_"But, John..!"_

"No 'buts', Alan," John bristled. "Eleven minutes."

 _"We can't just leave him out here!"_ Alan's voice increased tenfold with a mixture of emotions. _"What if he's hurt?"_

_'Or worse...'_

John took a deep breath, maintaining his composure. "You need to think about getting those dormant researchers and Brains back in one piece."

 _Jesus, John! Are you even listening to yourself?!"_ Alan was both angry and incredulous. _"You're telling me to leave him to die!"_

"No," John's voice stayed calm but the firmness and authority was evident. "I'm saying you have ten and a half minutes to keep searching before EOS locks your controls and brings Thunderbird Three back to base. Thunderbird Five, out."

The redhead swiped the transmission off, growling in agitation. Part of him understood Alan's frustration. He just wished that the young blond could accept the reasoning behind the ultimatum that John had to issue: That they had completely exhausted their options. Aquamarine eyes glanced back towards the holographic map before him and he let out a sigh, slender shoulders slumping forward.

He _really_ needed that coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I really hope that you enjoyed this chapter – Many thanks for your reviews and kudos so far – I look forward to more feedback!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how quickly I'm churning these chapters out - I think this is a new personal record for me! XD  
> Thank you so much again for all of the kudos and comments - you have no idea how happy it makes me to read them!  
> Advanced warning for language again in this chapter - do let me know what you think of it and thank you for stopping by to read!

Planet Earth looked beautiful.  
  
Hues of blues, greens, greys and sandy, earthy tones combined with the soft, graceful wisps of candyfloss clouds.  
  
It looked so peaceful.   
  
Warm...  
  
Unlike the cold vacuum of space - now littered with twisted metal and other unidentifiable compounds once belonged to a research craft.   
  
Crystalline blues took in the more picturesque view for a moment longer before blinking slowly.   
  
Scott Tracy's gloved fingers gingerly touched the cracked visor on his helmet, silently thanking Brains for creating such a fast-acting sealing compound. Had it not been for their genius friend, he would have suffocated within a matter of seconds when those charges had detonated on board the aforementioned vessel.  
  
A quick check on the holo-image projected from the back of his arm-guard told him that his damaged helmet had six minutes and thirty-four seconds of oxygen left.  
  
All bad things aside, at least the cargo container that he was currently nestled within had finally stopped spinning at a sickening rate...   
  
Because really, nobody ever wanted to upchuck in zero gravity.  
  
He had heard the horror stories from John.   
  
And also from Brains.  
  
 _Six minutes..._  
  
For what felt like the hundredth time, Scott tapped the 'IR' logo on his utility sash, dimly aware that yet again, the comms link failed to illuminate. "This is Thunderbird One. Alan? John? Do you read me?"  
  
Silence.  
  
Not even static.  
  
And in the coldness of space, even the silence seemed eerily loud.  
  
"Shit.."   
  
_'Don't panic... You'll waste your oxygen.'_  
  
 _Five minutes and forty-five seconds..._  
  
 _'Shut up. I don't panic. Ever.'_  
  
Alan, Brains and John were out there.  
  
They would find him.  
  
 _'Dead or alive..?'_  
  
He considered yet again if he should attempt some form of space walk - just in case changing positions could somehow increase his chances of being found. However, he had used his grapple gun to tether the stricken research vessel to Thunderbird Three in order to ferry the cryo-chambers to safety inside the cargo container that he was now seeking refuge within. Needless to say neither grapple gun nor line had survived the blasts - hence why said containment unit had come free. He had also been forced to jettison his jetpack in a split second decision when one of the closer explosions had threatened to knock him off-course whilst en-route to the only shelter that seemed appropriate.  
  
 _'Stay put. Don't move. They'll find you.'_  
  
Scott gave a short nod of approval to his inner logic. If he moved now, especially without his gear, he would only be using up more of his depleting oxygen supply and decreasing the odds of being found - especially with all of the debris from the destroyed ship still floating around.   
  
So he waited.  
  
And it was infuriating.  
  
Scott Tracy was a man of action. He _needed_ to be doing something - not just sitting around idly whilst waiting to be discovered.  
  
 _Four minutes and nine seconds..._  
  
Arguably, it had been his 'act now, worry later' impulsiveness that had landed him in his current predicament. Perhaps if he had not have gone back for that last cryo-chamber, the outcome would have been so very different.  
  
Then again, there had been a chance of saving another life... Whoever was in that last cryo-chamber - malfunctioning or not - could have been somebody's parent, sibling or child...  
  
 _'Was it really worth it?'_  
  
He sighed, unhappy with where his train of thought was going.  
  
 _'Of course it was worth it, idiot! Imagine if that had been someone like Uncle Lee! Or Alan! Or John! Or...'_  
  
 _Three minutes and thirty-eight seconds..._  
  
 _'…Or Dad...'_  
  
The brunette swallowed thickly, closing his eyes again for a moment.  
  
Was he really going to go out like this? No blaze of glory? No goodbyes?  
  
No certainty if their missing father - the great Jeff Tracy - was even still alive?  
  
A faint yet urgent beeping in his helmet brought him out of his thoughts and Scott glanced back at the holographic timer.  
  
 _One minute and fifty-three seconds..._  
  
 _'What?! How?!'_  
  
It took a further ten seconds before Scott realised that he was borderline hyperventilating.  
  
 _'You said you never panic, asshole! Stop it and get a grip!'_  
  
And it was another several seconds before the pilot was able to regulate his breathing again.  
  
 _One minute and twelve seconds_  
  
 _'Well shit...'_  
  
Scott's fingers tapped lightly over the holo-panel on the back of his arm-guard, deactivating the projected countdown, suddenly disinterested in watching some kind of macabre countdown.  
  
Still aware of the lack of gravity, he climbed to his feet, steadying himself for a moment with his right hand on the wall of the cargo container. After a moment, he edged forward before perching on the edge of the metal unit, dangling his legs over the lip as he rested his head against the side as he watched the swirling kaleidoscope of colours before him.  
  
At least the view was good.  
  
And he had managed to mentally block out the slightly irritating alarm that continued to chirp within his helmet.   
  
_'If Gordon was here right now, he'd quip that it was breath-taking... Pun fully intended...'_  
  
But Gordon was thousands of miles away - called out alongside Virgil to assist with a situation in the Indian Ocean.   
  
Today had been another one of those back-to-back days of rescues - Scott barely had time to shower and grab a slice of leftover pizza after getting back from a mission in South Korea (and Italy prior to that) before he had been sent out alongside Alan and Brains for this current assignment. Never mind the ungodly hour that he and Virgil had returned from Argentina several hours before.  
  
Come to think about it, he was pretty tired...  
  
 _'Don't close your eyes...'_  
  
There was something about watching those pure white clouds slowly swirling and caressing the Earth that was quite cathartic...  
  
 _'Just for a couple of seconds. Like a supercharged power-nap...'_  
  
The silence seemed a lot less eerie now. It was almost soothing, especially when accompanied by the soft _ba-bump_ of his own heart beat that he was now acutely aware of; the slow, steady rhythm encouraging heavy lids to close further over icy blues...  
  
 _Ba-bump..._  
  
 _… Ba-bump..._  
  
 _... Ba--_  
  
A near-blinding light flashed briefly and Scott made a small sound, forcing his eyes open.  
  
Nothing.  
  
There was nothing there - except for the drifting wreckage.  
  
Without warning, the bright light returned; this time refusing to shift in direction.  
  
The brunette made an attempt to shield his eyes, but his arm felt like it had been weighted down and refused to budge.  
  
And then he saw it.  
  
A figure - hard to identify in the with the intense luminosity - but definitely someone.  
  
Blue eyes widened, welling up in recognition as the figure approached. Scott tried to say something but for some reason, he was unable to find his voice. It was as if a great fatigue was overcoming him.  
  
 _Ba-bump..._  
  
 _... Ba-bump..._  
  
He felt the moisture leave his eyes, small droplets of tears forming almost-perfect glistening orbs as they floated in zero gravity within his helmet.  
  
 _Ba-bump..._  
  
A gloved hand touched his shoulder gently and Scott's eyes slid shut again, a small smile on his face as he finally found enough of his voice to muster a whisper before everything succumbed to darkness.  
  
 _Ba-bump..._  
  
"You're here..."  
  
 _... Ba-bump._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not updating this sooner – work, life stuff and health stuff got in the way and had to take priority.  
> Thank you sooooo much again for the kudos and comments - you have no idea how happy it makes me to read them! <3

_"Five minutes, Alan."_  
  
Textured blue gloves gripped even tighter at the controls of Thunderbird Three and Alan gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw began to ache.  
  
"I don't need reminding, John!"  
  
There was no response from the space monitor and inwardly, Alan was incredibly thankful. Currently, his entire being was a raging whirlpool of raw emotions.  
  
Anger.  
  
Frustration.  
  
Desperation.  
  
_Fear._  
  
He had not meant to snap at John, but sometimes, their middle brother could be so business-like - especially when it was one of their own in danger out on the field. Part of Alan wondered if John even realised the manner in which he was currently projecting himself over the comms.  
  
Robotic.  
  
Uncaring.  
  
_Cold._  
  
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alan also wondered if John had been doing his job for so long - dealing with his own family putting their lives on the line almost every day - that he was becoming desensitised to it all. And it was that notion which scared the teen even more.  
  
"Alan..."  
  
The blond visibly flinched at the soft call of his name from his friend and co-worker.  
  
An orange-gloved hand came to rest gently - _sympathetically_ \- on his shoulder.  
  
"Alan, we d-don't have much time left."  
  
"I know that... But..." he hesitated, trying to swallow the lump that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere; sticking in his throat and preventing him from speaking further.  
  
"There are o-other lives at stake here too, Alan," Brains was trying to be as understanding and supportive as possible whilst also trying to get his - and John's - point across. "You know he wouldn't want you to th-throw everything away like this..."  
  
Alan drew a shaky breath, his vision starting to blur and cloud. He refused to blink as he tipped his head back in an attempt to stem the tears that threatened to spill. Sure, he was the youngest, but he was not a baby, damnit!  
  
He opened his mouth to answer but became immediately frustrated with himself when no sound came out.  
  
Gloved hands now gripped impossibly tight at the controls of Thunderbird Three.  
  
Brains gave a momentary glance over his shoulder at Braman - the old android watching them with an almost eerie silence - before giving Alan's tense shoulder a gentle squeeze.  
  
"A-Alan. We have to go."  
  
He was so sure he could feel the teenager's wiry frame tremble slightly but could not conclude it if was from sheer anger and frustration...  
  
... Or utter distress and sadness.  
  
The scientist and engineer hesitated for a moment before trying again.  
  
"Alan--"  
  
"I know."  
  
The slight crack in the teen's quiet voice had not gone unnoticed.  
  
And when Alan glanced up at him, forcing his best smile despite the tears streaking down his face, Brains felt as if his heart would literally rip itself apart.  
  
"I'm so.. so s-sorry, Alan."  
  
Those watery baby blues averted their gaze; no longer able to maintain their lock on the stuttering man.  
  
Defeated.  
  
_Broken._  
  
Alan's form shuddered as he exhaled deeply, trying to compose himself as best as he could before he tapped the comms button on the dashboard of his damaged ship.  
  
"Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five. I..." he inhaled unsteadily for a moment. "Commencing re-entry course."  
  
_"Copy that, Thunderbird Three."_  
  
It had not gone unnoticed when Alan had flinched at John's response, however Brains opted to remain silent, feeling that it was not his place to involve himself in what appeared to be a sibling matter. He anticipated some sort of altercation would come from this between the two brothers but conflict resolution was most definitely not his forte.  
  
Perhaps he would busy himself with repairs and maintenance on Braman upon their return. After all, his old creation and friend seemed to have taken somewhat of a beating from the Chaos Crew's explosives that had been planted upon the old research vessel that now lay scattered in pieces before them. It would certainly be interesting to view the information gathered by Braman. Perhaps the bronze A.I. could shed some light into how the vessel had gotten into such a situation...  
  
Alan started to turn his crippled ship around, letting out a frustrated sound as the damaged port-side vernier thrusters struggled initially to carry out their manoeuvre.  
  
As the red rescue vessel began to turn, something amongst the plethora of floating debris caught Brains' attention.  
  
The brown-haired inventor blinked for a moment, scrutinising that particular area of space which had caught his attention. Perhaps it had been a Cepheid variable, or that he had simply caught the glint of light from the sun reflecting off one of the many broken pieces of the research ship.  
  
There was also every possibility that he was just incredibly tired.  
  
After all, rescue missions were not his area of expertise. Brains was more than happy to sit in his lab on Tracy Island with his faithful companion MAX - and Braman too, once he had been fully repaired - working on new inventions to assist International Rescue and humankind.  
  
"A-Alan, stop!!"  
  
The blond astronaut practically jumped out of his skin at the sudden volume and alarm in his companion's voice.  
  
"Jeez, Brains! What the--"  
  
"Alan! L-Look!" Brains was almost climbing over the back of the pilot's seat as he pointed frantically toward something in the distance.  
  
Blue eyes squinted as Alan tried to figure out the source of his friend's excitement.  
  
"Brains, I don't... Oh!" his confusion was short-lived when a flash of light caught his attention.  
  
"There's someone o-out there!"  
  
Without further hesitation, Alan's blue-gloved hand reached over and hit the comms button with such energy and force that Brains almost worried the teen would punch through that particular control panel.  
  
"This is International Rescue! Do you read me?"  
  
Silence.  
  
Alan and Brains exchanged glances for a moment before the blond astronaut attempted radio contact again.  
  
"This is International Rescue. We have limited flight time left. If anyone is out there, _please respond_!"  
  
There was another heart-wrenching silence before the communications channel sparked to life; the response causing Alan and Brains' jaws to drop in unison.  
  
At first, Alan was not sure if he had been imagining things. However, the expression across Brains' spectacled face told him otherwise and before he knew it, his hands were already fumbling to undo the harness binding him to his seat.  
  
"John!" he barked over the comms, still feeling somewhat unsure on how the space monitor would respond.  
  
_"I heard,"_ John's voice was still calm but Alan could hear the underlying tension. _"Go. And be quick about it."_  
  
He did _not_ need to be told twice.  
  
Brains let out a yelp of surprise as Alan bolted from his seat,  floating over the pilot's chair before planting his feet square against the back of it and kicking off in the direction of the cockpit doors. The inventor stood there, still visibly shaken by what he had heard. He was sure that Alan and John had been just as rattled too, but the brothers had a far more superior coping mechanism that he possessed.  
  
Alan shot out of the cockpit - a youthful streak of blue and red - but Brains did not miss the slight glimmer in those baby blues as the teen passed him.  
  
_Hope._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a lot of people that I would definitely be updating this fic and I hope I haven’t kept readers waiting too long! I’ve still not recovered one hundred percent from my operation but I have somehow managed to churn out two separate TAG fic chapters in twenty-four hours! Hopefully, this is a sign that I have finally shaken off the dreaded writer’s block!  
> A massive thank you for all of the comments / reviews and kudos - you have no idea how encouraging they are to read!

Orbs of aquamarine shielded themselves momentarily as John Tracy blinked owlishly.  
  
"I need another coffee..."  
  
"I would highly recommend against it, John," EOS said softly as she rotated on her ceiling rail to regard him. "You have consumed a total of eight servings of coffee within the last--"  
  
"I get it already, EOS!" John waved his hand in a dismissive - and slightly irritable - manner. He cringed as the words left his mouth, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. It's just... This is turning into a _very_ long day."  
  
The A.I. paused for a moment, initially pondering if her creator was beginning to show signs of space dementia before realising he was using a figure of speech. Her tone softened; volume decreasing a notch. "I wish there were some other way I could console you, John. I may not have a human heart, but I do not wish to see you in such internal anguish."  
  
Her efforts were rewarded with the faintest of smiles from the redhead.  
  
 _"Contact!"_  
  
John practically jumped out of his skin at Alan's sudden shout over the comms.  
  
Almost immediately, the space monitor sprang to life; a deft hand bringing up a new holographic screen, fingers tapping across icons and keys in a flurry of movement. He cursed softly when he remembered that the console housing the remote access modules to the rocket was one of the components damaged by the blast that had put them all in this precarious situation. "I have limited control over Thunderbird Three. I'm going to try and bring her in closer to your position."  
  
"F.A.B. Make it quick, John," the energy in Alan's youthful voice had been replaced with a mixture of fatigue and concern. "Please."  
  
The redhead winced at the sluggish response from Thunderbird Three as gloved hands glided gently across the holographic projection before him. Sweat beaded across his furrowed brow as he channeled the majority of his concentration into guiding the stricken rescue vessel through the minefield of floating debris and closer to her primary operator. He knew that EOS was silently doing whatever she could to assist him but he was also extremely aware that Brains would have his work very much cut out for him once the red craft had touched back down on Tracy Island.  
  
Perhaps they should request that Kayo and Lady Penelope investigate into just _how_ the Chaos Crew - or, more specifically, The Hood - was able to gain access to such powerful explosives...  
  
 _'Priorities, John... Focus on the present.'_  
  
Heeding his internal monologue, John remotely fired up Thunderbird Three's remaining two forward-facing thrusters, bringing the rescue craft to as much of a controlled halt as the damaged ship could muster.  
  
"This is as close as I dare, Alan," John had not even realised how tightly clenched his jaw had been up until now. "The rest is up to you."  
  
 _"F.A.B.,"_ there was a slight waver in Alan's voice that John numbly identified as underlying panic. _"En-route back to Thunderbird Three now."_  
  
John waited a beat before he dared to ask his next question, internally loathing the fact that he was still unable to observe any bio readings due to the sheer volume of space debris.  
  
"Situation?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Thunderbird Three. Update please."  
  
John's gloved hands were so tightly clenched that it was starting to hurt.  
  
"Alan! Please respond!"  
  
"John! I'm finally picking up some suit diagnostics from Scott, but the data is incredibly limited," it was the child-like voice of EOS that broke the strained silence. "I believe his flight suit may have taken some damage and shall attempt to boost the signal."  
  
It was extremely rare that John was unable to fully interpret the tone of his A.I. companion, however this was one such occasion.  
  
A holographic screen projected itself to the space monitor's right. Aquamarines focused on the new screen and John's brows furrowed, a frown spreading across his face.  
  
"Heart rate shows bradycardia: Thirty-four beats per minute and dropping. I am unable to access respiratory data," EOS stated. "I will contact Tracy Island and have the medical bay prepared as a matter of urgency."  
  
John gave a short nod of his head as his gaze directed itself back to the original holo-map.  
  
Alan had just reached Thunderbird Three.  
  
Time to try again.  
  
"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Three. Alan. What is your status? Please respond."  
  
Static.  
  
And then...  
  
 _"John. I... I'm back in Thunderbird Three..."_  
  
Even though John could not see his youngest brother, he definitely did not miss the hiccuping sobs that intermittently cracked his voice.  
  
His heart ached, but he was still acutely aware that the rescue ship was so low on fuel that a safe re-entry into atmosphere would very soon become impossible.  
  
"Alan, you have to make re-entry to Earth now before you're out of fuel," as much as he wanted to ask if Alan was okay, he knew that they were fast running out of time. "Did you find him?"  
  
Another pause accompanied by a sniffle.  
  
 _"I've got Scott but..."_ Alan's voice trailed off to a whimper. He seemed to cough and take a shuddering breath in an attempt to finish his sentence. _"John, he's.. He's not breathing. And he's so cold!"_  
  
John's jaw tightened in frustration. They needed to leave. There were so many more lives at stake. And that's what he needed to keep telling himself.  
  
Alan was going to hate him for not sympathising but...  
  
"Are you fit to fly? The remote access module is too damaged for me to safely guide and land Thunderbird Three."  
  
The response was not what he had anticipated.  
  
 _"I'll pilot."_  
  
Neither was it the voice he was expecting.  
  
John blinked, cocking his head.  
  
Was he hearing things?  
  
"Thunderbird Three. Repeat your last transmission."  
  
 _"I'll take control of Thunderbird Three and land her."_  
  
John's mouth fell open and EOS pivoted on her rail to regard her creator. "John. Are you alright?"  
  
Given his years of service as Thunderbird Five's space monitor, John thought that he had seen and heard enough to not get caught out on such a level of surprise.  
  
Apparently not.  
  
Clearing his throat and shaking his head, John spoke again - this time, bringing up another holo-screen and activating all International Rescue communication channels. "This is Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Three. Please identify yourself."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh!! Who else saw the TAG Season 3 finale trailer two days ago?? Honestly cannot wait for the New Year! Sorry it’s taken me a while to update this – I got distracted writing my other TAG fic “Complicated” but I managed to spare some time to finish off this chapter, which has been sitting half-finished on my phone for a while now!  
> A massive thank you for all of the comments / reviews and kudos - they really make my day!

“Y'know, Brains isn't going to be pleased that you've managed to damage Thunderbird Four. Again.”

“Virg. Stop. You're killing me here,” Gordon Tracy rolled his eyes as he dramatically threw his arms up either side of his head. “It's just a scratch! I'll buff her out and give her a fresh lick of paint as soon as we get home.”

Warm brown eyes danced as Virgil kept half of his attention focused on Thunderbird Two's flight instruments. “And the starboard robotic arm?”

There was a visible flinch from the sandy-haired aquanaut. 

“Okay... Not my finest moment, I'll admit. But at least we managed to untangle those two ships before things got really messy!”

A low chuckle rumbled from the raven-haired pilot as he checked the on-board navigation systems.

Yawning, Gordon reclined back in the co-pilot's seat; arms folding behind his head as he rested his feet on the console before him. “Do you think we'll be back before Thunderbird Three touches down? I really don't want to be the one stuck on dish duty this evening. Again.”

There was a sideways glower from Virgil and, in one fluid motion, he slapped his younger brother's legs from the console of his beloved craft. “Flippers off, Gordon, or you'll be washing more than just dishes this evening.”

“Okay, okay!” Gordon put his hands up in a placating manner. “Yeesh, you sure have the hump this afternoon! Are you jealous that _you_ didn't get to go with Alan and Brains into space instead of Scott?”

“I'm just tired, that's all,” Virgil huffed, although he had to admit that he was just a little bit jealous that he missed out on the chance of going back into space in Thunderbird Three. “Scott and I got back from that Argentina mission around two this morning...”

“I heard it was a bad one,” Gordon's voice dropped to a more sombre tone. “Are you guys holding up okay?”

Virgil gave a short, half-hearted smile. “Let me get back to you in a day or so about that one.”

Gordon gave an uncharacteristically quiet nod of his head in response. All of them had their fair share of bad missions. It was an occupational hazard. Their father had warned them all from the start of International Rescue that as determined as they all were and as good as their rescue equipment was, there would still be times where not everybody could be saved. 

And no matter how many years of experience they had accumulated since International Rescue had begun operating - no matter how many times they had to break the awful news - it _never_ got any easier. 

Not for any of them. 

“Hey, quit the long face. If the wind changes, you don't want to be stuck looking like that, do you?”

Glancing to his right, Gordon saw the forced smile on his older brother's face. It broke his heart a little. 

Only one thing to do about it. 

A grin broke across the aquanaut's face as he lounged back in his seat. “Yeah, well even if the wind did change my face, I'd still be the most handsome of us all!”

An amused snort escaped from his dark-haired sibling. It soon evolved into a deep chuckle. 

“You wish, fish boy!” Virgil smiled - a genuine smile. “I don't even know what Lady P sees in you!”

“A charming, well-groomed hero of epic proportions, of course!” Gordon beamed as he flexed the muscles in his arms.

Another entertained grunt from Thunderbird Two's pilot. “Yeah, one that's clearly not brave enough to actually ask her out!”

“Hey!”

“Tell me I'm wrong, Gordon.”

The sandy-haired aquanaut rolled his eyes and let out a disconcerted sigh. 

“Fine! You're not wrong, Virg,” he huffed, slumping further into his seat. “I'm just waiting for the right time, you know?”

This time, it was Virgil's turn to cast a sympathetic look. “With our line of work, you'll be hard-pressed to find the ‘right time’, little bro.”

Gordon let out a soft snort and quirked a small, somewhat sad smile. He opened his mouth to respond when suddenly, all comms sprang to life.

_“This is Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Three. Please identify yourself.”_

Virgil frowned, flicking a few switches on Thunderbird Two's communications console to his left. “What the heck?”

Gordon cast a worried glance in his brother's direction. “John sounds pretty troubled. Do you think he opened all comms intentionally?”

“I don't know, Gordon,” Virgil's brow furrowed; his expression darkening. “I know he must be pretty worn out from all the calls we've had in the past couple of days but... I don't like it.”

_“I repeat: Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Three. Identify yourself.”_

“You don't think The Hood has gained control of Thunderbird Three, do you?” Gordon questioned, his concern becoming more and more apparent as he spoke. “John did mention something about Chaos Crew involvement during their mission earlier. He momentarily cut us off mid-transmission to deal with it, remember?”

His acknowledgement and reply came in the form of a rather curt nod from Virgil. Gordon had not missed his older brother's tightly clenched jaw - or how his gloved hands had tightened on Thunderbird Two's yoke.

The aquanaut's self-proclaimed, famous squid sense was also starting to tingle. And not in a good way. 

_“John. It's me.”_

Gordon's mouth fell open. 

 _“John. Scott's suit diagnostics indicate that his core body temperature is still dangerously low,”_ EOS' infantile voice carried an undercurrent of concern. _“And Thunderbird Three's remaining fuel is critical. They need to make a re-entry into Earth's atmosphere. Now.”_

Virgil's hands clenched even tighter around his ship's controls.

 _“I need a confirmation of your identification...”_ John's voice was terse. Almost strained. _“Please.”_

There was an almost gut-wrenching pause before the response came through.

_“This is Colonel Jeff Tracy. Requesting permission for control over Thunderbird Three.”_

Thunderbird Two suddenly pitched off-course, inclining without warning and dropping downward by fifty feet in a matter of seconds. 

“Shit!”

The raven-haired pilot was quick to regain his composure; pulling back hard on the yoke and hauling the green carrier out of her sudden dive. 

It took Gordon a further seven seconds to realise he was holding his breath.

Finally letting out a shaky breath, he glanced over at Virgil.

The family bear's muscular frame was tense; his chocolate brown eyes wide, as if he had seen a ghost. 

Or rather, _heard_ one. 

“I... That was him, wasn't it?” Gordon's voice was shaky, his own frame trembling. “Please tell me I didn't just imagine it...”

 _“Confirmed. Relinquishing control over Thunderbird Three back to you,”_ John's voice now carried a soft, slightly unsteady undertone. _“We've missed you, Dad.”_

Gordon was unsure if he was dreaming or awake and about to pass out. Everything seemed to be happening so fast that it was making him feel light-headed. 

 _“John!”_ EOS sounded panicked over the open comms channel. 

The sudden change in both audio volume and information jarred Gordon out of his stupor. 

 _“Systems are no longer detecting cardiac motion,”_ the A.I. warned. _“Full cardiopulmonary resuscitation is strongly advised.”_

 _“Scott! No! Wake up!”_ Alan was yelling over the comms now, his voice hoarse and desperate. _“Don't leave me!”_

“What's going on?!” Virgil's deep voice cut in. “John?”

 _“A-Alan! You need to move aside!”_ Brains was almost pleading. _“I c-can't work on him like this! I need you to help me.”_

“John!” Virgil barked. “What the hell is going on up there?!”

 _“Thunderbird Three, I am mapping a safe flight path for your re-entry,”_ John's ‘business voice’ had returned. _“Virgil, I'm sorry. We have a situation. Return to base ASAP. Comms off.”_

And with that, the open communions link was severed.

There was a long pause within Thunderbird Two's cockpit: Both pilot and co-pilot sitting in stunned silence.

His heart pounding in his chest, Gordon turned to regard his brother.

“What the _fuck_ just happened?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So here it is – the final instalment of ‘Exhaustion’ – I hope it doesn’t feel too rushed as I really wanted to get it done and posted today but I lost a few days of writing due to an incredibly stressful week at work which ended with the worst case of food poisoning I’ve ever had in my life x_x  
> I’m still not feeling 100% but I really hope that it hasn’t affected the ending of this fic.  
> As per usual, thank you all so much for all of the comments / reviews – I truly appreciate them all!

There was something cathartic about the distant sound of gentle waves against a blend of solid rocks and silky-soft sand.

The chattering mix of tropical and sea birds only served to accentuate the warm sense of both security and familiarity.

If only the incessant low-tone hissing and electronic beeping would just stop.

“Any change?”

“Not really. No...”

Voices.

Familiar.

Slightly garbled. As if muffled by cotton wool. 

And yet, the constant beeping and hissing was still clearly there. 

And growing increasingly bothersome with every passing moment. 

“I was hoping he'd be awake by now.”

“Me too.”

“Did you stay here all night?”

“Maybe.”

“That's not exactly healthy...”

“I'll be fine.”

“ _Virgil_. Get some rest.”

A pause.

A sigh. Possibly even a yawn.

It was hard to tell over the sound of machinery.

What even was that sound? 

It was oddly recognisable. But not in the same way that the distant waves and avian warblers were. 

The artificial tones carried a more negative air. 

Cold.

Almost sad.

Definitely unnerving.

As if there was some deeply buried connotation...

_A distant rumble..._

_A sense of fear and dread..._

_Run!_

_“Go! Take Allie! Don't look back!”_

_Cold... Chilling wind._

_As the rumbling grew louder._

_And over it was the sound of terrified wailing._

_A child... No more than two years old._

_Alan._

_The soft, powdery ground was trembling._

_Got to escape!_

_Everything was happening so fast...!_

And then, there was a voice.

Gentle.

Soft.

_“Open your eyes...”_

Warm.

_“Wake up, sweetheart...”_

Safe.

Familiar.

_‘M-Mom...?’_

_“They're all waiting for you... Just open your eyes...”_

Crystalline blues opened slowly before scrunching shut against the sudden, harsh light that assaulted them.

Too bright...

And yet, somewhere in the back of his consciousness, that loving, gentle tone echoed again; coaxing him to open his eyes.

This time, he managed to crack one eye half open; grunting with effort before the other eye followed suit.

“Hey...”

This time, the voice was different.

Not the smooth, almost sing-song pitch that he still missed so much.

But an equally familiar one nonetheless.

“You're awake...”

Maybe he had hit his head...

“V-Virg...?”

A soft, slightly sad chuckle. “Not quite, kid. Try again.”

This time, the realisation hit him square in the chest and Scott Tracy sat bolt upright with a sharp gasp...

...Which almost immediately turned into a relentless, burning pain in his chest.

“Woah there! Take it easy!”

Strong hands guided him with surprising gentleness back onto the bed. 

Cringing, the brunette brought a slightly shaky hand up towards the the source of the now throbbing discomfort - only to have those same hands envelope his and bring the limb back down by his side. 

“Easy does it. You've got a couple of broken ribs...”

Blue met blue and Scott blinked languidly, his mind struggling to process just what was going on.

“Am I dead...?”

A lop-sided, bittersweet smile from the other. “Technically, you were. For about ten minutes.”

“Oh...” the Thunderbird One pilot frowned. “What about now?”

Another soft rumble of amusement. “What do you think?”

“Yes?”

“Do you honestly have that much of a death wish?”

“...No?”

Another minute went by and Scott started to identify his surroundings a little more. The crisp, sterile brightness of the infirmary on Tracy Island always gave him a deep sense on unease. 

Not to mention... 

“If I'm not dead...” he enquired slowly. “Why are you here?”

“You don't remember?”

“Remember what?”

The brunette's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of... well... Everything.  Fingers scrunched at the too-white sheets in frustration.

“What do you remember, Scott?”

“I... I remember bits,” Scott frowned. “I know we had a mission to rescue researchers in cryo-sleep... There had been some kind of incident...”

He closed his eyes, trying to will his brain to wake up and start piecing things together in a more coherent manner. It was hard. And therefore highly irritating. 

_“It's a trap! Get out of there!”_

_An explosion._

_“H-Hull integrity is failing! That ship will br-break apart!”_

_“Scott! You gotta get out of there!”_

_“There's still one more cryo-chamber left!”_

_“It's not worth it! You gotta get back to Thunderbird Three!”_

_More explosions._

_Running._

_A familiar symbol along one of the corridors._

_The Chaos Crew._

_No more time!_

“I went back for the last cryo-chamber but the research vessel was breaking apart,” the brunette ran a hand through his hair. “Alan said it wasn't worth it because it had been damaged... I was trying to override the ship's locks but I had to leave in the end. I... I don't remember much else after that.”

Scott closed his eyes and let out a sigh of frustration; his breath misting the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth for a moment. The only other thing he could remember was feeling cold, empty and tired. He shuddered involuntarily as icy tendrils of inexplicable dread seemed to creep up on him; slowly wrapping around him and making it harder for him to-

“You came back for me.”

Those words, softly spoken, seemed to snap him out of his spiral toward some kind of nightmarish rabbit hole.

“W-What?”

“I got the mission run-down from John and the others and we managed to piece everything together from there. That last cryo-chamber. It hadn't malfunctioned. The Hood wanted me awake before that research vessel exploded.”

“I... I don't understand...”

“I was on board that ship, Scott. It was _me_ that you were coming back for.”

It took a moment for the information to fully sink in.

Thirty seconds later, his vision seemed to blur.

“Hey now,” a gentle touch of slightly callous fingers against the side of his face, brushing the moisture from his eyes. “It's okay. You did good.”

“Dad... I...” the words refused to come forth.

“You saved me, son. If it weren't for you, I'd probably be dead,” Jeff Tracy reflected his own watery smile. “Just try not to give me such a scare next time, okay?”

“'Kay.”

“Hey, Dad. Grandma said that dinner will be ready in... Scott! You're awake!” 

There was a blur of blond before the youngest Tracy was there by the side of the infirmary bed. 

“Don't you _ever_ scare me like that again, ya hear?!” Alan's voice cracked with so many emotions. “I honestly thought we were gonna lose you this time!”

“Sorry, Al,” Scott gave Alan a thumbs up followed by the most reassuring smile he could muster. “It's okay. I'll be okay.”

Alan gave his brother a somewhat sceptical glare for a moment before he huffed and straightened himself up. “Well, you got good timing. If you're feeling up to it, you might be able to join us for a ‘good ol' fashioned family dinner’ as Grandma put it.”

The Thunderbird One made a small snort. “What's the occasion?”

“The usual festive meal,” Alan replied, beaming a little. “With one extra place for Dad this year!”

“You're kidding me! How long was I out for?”

“Three days. You really did give us a scare this time, big bro!”

“Shit...”

“Language, Scotty...” Jeff warned with a good-natured expression on his face.

“Sorry, Dad.”

Another hearty chuckle from the patriarch of the Tracy family. “Alan, you might as well let the others know the good news.”

“F.A.B., Dad!”

A light breeze accompanied the running of footsteps and Alan had disappeared once more. 

The infirmary fell into silence again, save for the low hiss of oxygen and the beeping of monitoring equipment. 

“So... December Twenty-Fifth, huh?” Scott gave a look of chagrin. “I hope you don't mind that I haven't gotten you anything.”

“That's okay, son. I already have more than enough,” Jeff smiled warmly as he reached over to ruffle the brunette's hair. “Merry Christmas, Scott.”

Relaxing back against the pillow, a content smile crossed Scott's face as he let the sound of distant waves and birdsong lull him back to sleep.

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks so much for reading this fic - I really hope that people enjoyed it!  
> Please do let me know what you thought of it - I love hearing from readers :3  
> Finally (I know it's Christmas Eve today), Merry Christmas / Happy Holidays to everyone <3  
> Here's to more works from me in the New Year ^_^


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